Darkblade Slayer

by Andy Peloquin

  Evren's eyes sparkled, and the Hunter felt his own curiosity burning. It seemed the thief, like him, couldn't resist the allure of a good mystery. He'd always loved the stories of Aegeos, the continent said to have sunk beneath the Endless Sea during the War of Gods.

  "The legends also say Enarium was bein' somewhere in the heart of the mountains," Rassek went on in his dramatic voice. "Most people take that as meanin’ it’s bein' somewhere in the middle of the Empty Mountain range. That’d be puttin' it more than a hundred leagues to the north, it would. But me, I like to be thinkin' of it in more the magical sense."

  "Magick?" The Hunter raised an eyebrow. The Serenii had wielded magical power, but magick hadn't been seen on Einan since the ancient race disappeared around the time of the War of Gods.

  "Magick, indeed." Rassek dragged a finger through the dirt at his feet, drawing four lines. "There’s those who say Enarium is bein' built on the spot where the lines of Einan's power converge, see." He drew a large circle where the lines intersected. "I’m like to be believin' the true heart of the mountain is here, where the magical lines intersect, and not the physical center."

  The Hunter's eyebrows rose. The Sage had mentioned something similar. "The Serenii designed Enarium as a conduit for their power. An entire city built to channel the energies they drew from within Einan itself!" The mountaineer’s belief could be more accurate than he realized.

  "So where is this magical heart of the mountains?" he asked.

  Rassek's face fell. "Somewhere we'll never be able to reach."

  Darillon snorted. "Flair for the dramatic, you’ve got!"

  "I'm not bein' dramatic!" Rassek shot the older man a glare. "This is all part of the experience of seekin’ out the Lost City, says I."

  "Myths and legends and fairy tales." Darillon sighed. "Too many good men have gone to their deaths in search of something that doesn't exist."

  "And yet you make your living searching for it?" the Hunter asked.

  Darillon shrugged. "People are willing to pay me to take them into the mountains, and I need the coin to live. Not all of us can be driven by flights of fancy."

  "Fancy?" Rassek's face took on an expression of mock outrage. "And I suppose ye’re goin’ to be callin' the Stone Guardians myth and legend as well?"

  "Damned bloody right, I am!" Darillon folded his arms. "No one's seen them in person before."

  Rassek protested. "Divvik and Garith—"

  "Are bloody drunks and liars, you know that better than anyone." Darillon shook his head. "No, no one I trust has seen them before. There's no proof they exist."

  "What are Stone Guardians?" the Hunter asked, cutting in on their exchange. This seemed to be an argument the two men had had many times in the past.

  "Another myth!" Darillon snorted.

  "The protectors of Enarium," Rassek said, shooting his partner a venomous look. "Them charged with guardin’ the path to the Lost City, they are."

  "A path no one seems to be able to find," Darillon said with a shake of his head.

  "Because the Stone Guardians are protectin’ it!" Rassek's expression grew triumphant, as if he'd won a significant victory.

  Darillon rolled his eyes, but didn't bother to retort.

  "The Stone Guardians," continued Rassek, "are bein' great grand beasts of stone, set by the Serenii to guard the way to Enarium, they are. ‘Tis said only the truly worthy will ever see them, fer only the worthy will be findin’ the path to the Lost City."

  "Or, only a man capable of scaling a sheer stone cliff two hundred paces tall," Darillon muttered.

  "What cliff?" the Hunter asked. Despite the argument, the mountaineer's stories held a hint of information that might prove useful.

  "Go ahead," Darillon prompted Rassek, eliciting a scowl. "Tell them where your theory falls flat."

  With a sigh, Rassek drew a broad circle around the lines he'd etched into the dirt. "I can’t show this disbeliever where the magical heart of the mountains is because there's no way to reach it, see."

  The Hunter narrowed his eyes.

  "Too many impassable cliffs with sheer rock faces too difficult to scale, even fer experienced climbers like Darillon." Rassek shot a hard look at the older man. "We've gone circlin’ that section of the mountain a dozen times and never found a way through, we haven’t."

  "Waste of time," Darillon said, rolling his eyes. "And good equipment. One time, the horses spooked and bolted. Cost us a fortune in equipment, and we barely got out of there alive. Had to live off the rations in our packs. We only survived because we were lucky enough to stumble across another group of mountaineers."

  "But don’t ye see?" Excitement glimmered in Rassek's eyes. "Tha’s bein' the proof! The horses spooked because of the Stone Guardians, says I."

  "I didn't see any monsters of stone," Darillon retorted.

  "Neither did I, because they were made of bloody stone on a mountain of stone." Rassek shook his head. "But that's the only reason Blackwing and Heartfire here would run off, see. They've been solid, calm horses for ten years, yet one day out of the blue they just spook? Nothin’ else makes sense!"

  These words triggered a memory in the Hunter's mind. Queen Asalah, the demon in Al Hani, had spoken of the curse of the Empty Mountains. It was said the curse toyed with the minds of the Abiarazi, turned them into mindless beasts. It was why the Sage had chosen to give up his power and become human in order to reach Enarium.

  But what if the same curse that affected the Abiarazi had somehow influenced the horses’ minds as well? The Serenii magick could have different effects on different creatures. Ash and Elivast had hated the Dolmenrath, the magical standing stones erected by the ancient Serenii. Was it such a stretch that the curse placed on the Empty Mountains would have similar effects?

  "Where did that happen?" the Hunter asked. It was a huge gamble, but it was the closest thing he had to a clue.

  "About two days' ride from here," Rassek said.

  Darillon shook his head. "Don't believe a word he—"

  "That's where we go," the Hunter said. "That is where we'll find the way to Enarium."

  Chapter Seventeen

  The dreams returned in full force that night.

  "We have spoken of this before, Az'nii." He paced around the room, the frustration in his voice echoing the irritation in his gut. "You cannot send me away from Enarium. I must be here by your side when our child is born."

  "And, in doing so, risk both of our lives!" Her eyes flashed, and a stubborn expression crossed Her face. "You have seen what happened to all the others that returned. I will not see you or me succumb to the same madness that twisted them."

  He knelt and took Her hands in his. "But what of our child? What life will he have without a father?" His nostrils filled with Her unique scent of jasmine and honey, cinnamon and berries.

  "A better life than he would have without both parents." Sorrow twisted Her face. "The danger to us both is too great. The curse will come for us, and we will be driven insane like the others. It is only by being apart that we are safe. You know this in your heart, my love."

  "No! It cannot be!" He threw himself to his feet and paced again. "I cannot believe that we would be spared from death only to be condemned to a fate far worse: a life apart from each other. The Beggar wanted us to live, to experience life on Einan the way our human parents did. Without you, without our child, there is only misery and solitude waiting out there."

  "You say you care for our child?" Her voice hardened. "You wish to protect him? Or her?"

  "With all my heart."

  "Then, for the child’s sake, you must leave. Should the Cambionari find you here, with me, they will do to you what they did to the rest of our kind. Look out there, and tell me you would not share the same fate."

  His gaze drifted out the window, past the beautiful spires and towers of Enarium, toward the burning pit in the distance. A shudder ran down his spine at the memory of what had happened that night in Khar'nath. They had both c
ome within a heartbeat of death and only the Beggar's intercession had saved them.

  From his vantage point, he couldn't see the simple stone markers dotting the mountains around Khar'nath, but he knew they were there. Four hundred and sixty-seven of them, at last count. Four hundred and sixty-seven brothers and sisters slain by the Cambionari and laid to eternal rest within sight of the portal to hell.

  "Let them come!" The rage burning in his gut matched the blazing intensity of the flames pouring from the pit. "We have faced them before, you and I, and they could not stand between us."

  "Now there is one more life to consider." She placed a slim hand on Her bulging belly. "We must be willing to lay down everything for the babe’s sake. Our love, even our very life, if so required. This is all that matters, my love."

  * * *

  The Hunter awoke with a heavy heart and a lump in his throat. His eyes found only darkness, and it took a moment to realize he no longer sat within the city of Enarium. The dream—the memory—faded, taking with it the face he knew so well yet could never fully recall.

  He let out a long, slow breath. Sweat soaked his tunic, his blankets, and the rolled-up shirt pillowing his head. The air within their little tent was cold, but he felt no chill. The images might fade, but the emotions burned like a fire within him.

  What happened in the end? Why did I have to leave? His mind raced. The dream had only given him fragments to work with, vague hints of a curse that had affected the others of his kind, the threat of the Cambionari. But not enough to answer the burning question of why She had betrayed him to the Illusionist Clerics.

  She had made it clear in the dream: his departure from Enarium was necessary to protect their child. But why? Why would his presence there, with Her, have been such a danger that She would send him away? What could be so horrible that it would convince Her to stab him and deliver him to the servants of the Illusionist to erase his memories?

  A shiver ran down his spine, and it had nothing to do with the cool mountain air. The questions nagged at his mind. He'd get no sleep this night.

  He cast a glance at Hailen, curled up in the bedroll beside his. The boy slept fitfully these days, the Irrsinnon plaguing his dreams as well as his waking hours. The Hunter left Soulhunger tucked beneath the boy's pillow. Hailen needed the dagger's presence more than he did. The gemstone, crafted by Serenii magick, would keep the madness from overwhelming him completely. Sooner or later, however, even that would fail.

  The Hunter tugged his vest on over his tunic and slung his leather armor atop it. He didn't bother with the myriad straps—he'd have time enough to tighten the armor throughout the night. He dug into his pack for the volume he'd taken from the Master's Temple, grabbed his heavy cloak, and crawled out of the small tent.

  A chill darkness hung thick around their little campsite. Stars twinkled in the sky high overhead, and a faint sliver of moon peered out from behind a jagged mountain peak. The light of the dying fire revealed two figures. Evren lay curled in a bundle between the pair of two-man tents. Darillon and Rassek shared the other, meaning the young thief had no choice but to brave the elements. His ragged blankets looked pathetically ineffective at keeping out the mountain wind.

  Rassek sat beside the fire, his back against a boulder and his feet propped up on a small stone. His eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue, but he sat up as the Hunter emerged. "No luck sleepin’?" he asked.

  The Hunter shook his head and took a seat on the opposite side of the little campfire, where he could keep an eye on the tents, the mountain trail, Evren, and Rassek all at once. Years as an assassin had trained him to never turn his back to any potential threats. Though he doubted the three people traveling with him would assault him, he wouldn't take chances.

  Rassek rubbed his angular chin with a stubby-fingered hand. "Mountain air’s known fer playin’ tricks on yer body and mind, I've heard. The thinner the air gets, the more noticeable its effect, see."

  "Will we be climbing high?"

  The mountaineer shrugged. "To reach those cliffs I was talkin’ about, we'll have to be gainin' some altitude, we will." He pursed his lips in thought. "Maybe a quarter of a league above the level of Vothmot. Not the highest spot in the Empty Mountains, but I worry yer boy'll have difficulty."

  The Hunter inclined his head. "He'll manage." A thought crossed his mind. "We'll be doing most of the traveling on foot, right?"

  Rassek gave a little half-nod, half-shake of his head. "More or less. The trail's pretty good fer another day or so—the more popular parts, these are—but as we get closer to that odd spot, things'll get rough. There are a few places where we'll be havin' to do some serious climbin’, we will."

  "Does that mean we'll be leaving the horses?"

  Rassek shook his head. "We've got a solution fer haulin’ them up the cliffs ahead. It'll be a bleedin' lot of work, but it's worth it fer the supplies they'll carry, says I."

  The Hunter nodded. "Good." He lapsed into silence, and Rassek seemed to have run out of things to talk about. "You know," he said after a few minutes, "I'm not going to get much sleep tonight. I can take the watch and tend the fire, so go close your eyes for a few hours."

  "Ye sure?" Rassek shot a glance at the stars. "Dawn’s known fer comin’ early in these mountains, but it's still bein' a few hours off."

  "I'm sure. Besides," the Hunter said with a grin, "how are you supposed to show us the way or keep us alive if you're falling asleep in the saddle?"

  Rassek chuckled. "Ye’re not wrong there. Thankfully, Darillon's the one as does most of the leadin’. I'm the one charged with makin’ sure our clients are happy."

  "I can see why he wasn't assigned that role."

  "He's a good man, Darillon." Rassek's eyes went to the tent where his partner slept. "Solid, steady as a rock, and the best mountaineer in Vothmot, he is. Just not gifted with a clever tongue. Me, on the other hand, well, I've always liked to think I could sell venom to a snake."

  The Hunter smiled. It felt strange, this open, genial conversation. Until now, his life had been fraught with deceit, treachery, and betrayal. People he thought he could trust had turned on him, and he'd faced one danger after another since leaving Voramis. Yet here he was, sitting on a rocky mountain slope, cracking jokes with a man he'd just met that same day. It almost seemed…friendly.

  "Well, if ye’re sure?" Rassek said as he climbed to his feet. “Good news is that ye don’t have to be worryin’ about anythin’ larger than a cliff gopher in this part of the mountains. But, a good night of sleep’s often worth a fortune after a day of travelin’.”

  "Off with you." The Hunter gave a dismissive wave.

  "The fire ought to die down within the next hour or so, so don’t you bother with feedin’ it." Rassek gestured around him. "These mountains are an uncannily beautiful place if ye’re not afraid to be in the dark, says I."

  "I’ll keep that in mind."

  "Night, then." With that, the mountaineer crawled into the small two-man tent he shared with Darillon.

  The Hunter waited until the sound of movement within the tent had stopped before pulling out the Taivoro. He didn’t expect the two men to know its provenance, but he wouldn't risk anyone finding out he'd broken into the Master's Temple. If, for some reason, he ended up returning to Vothmot, he'd rather not have all the Lecterns hunting for him.

  He ran a finger over the spine of the book, tracing the gilded letters that proclaimed the title of the book The Singer and His Muse. He'd always enjoyed reading, though he hadn't dedicated much time to it in the last decade or so. His status as legendary assassin of Voramis had kept him supplied with enough clients to occupy his full attention.

  A smile came to his face as he thought of the last night he'd seen Graeme, back in Voramis. The fat alchemist had been hunched over a Taivoro novel much like this one. At the time, the Hunter had thought Graeme was enjoying the racy contents of the book. Perhaps the man had actually been searching the texts for clues hidden there by the mad playwright
. The Secret Circle, the hidden network of alchemists, made a fortune selling information. Who knew what they could uncover by deciphering Taivoro's hidden codes?

  He opened the book as delicately as he could manage. The dim firelight turned the pages an even deeper shade of yellow. The volume was ancient, and he had to be careful not to damage it. He'd have no chance to return to Vothmot to steal another copy.

  A quick scan of the book confirmed that it held none of the illustrations Bardin had used to decipher the secret hidden in the volume. Without the art, the Hunter would have to rely on the text itself.

  Truth be told, he had no idea where or how to start. Nothing leapt out at him from the pages. There was nothing unusual about the text, the layout of the book, or the numeration—not to his eyes, at least. Whatever the Sage had uncovered within these pages, Taivoro had at least concealed it enough for the average reader not to notice.

  I guess I'm going to have to actually read the damned thing. He sighed. The book looked far thicker than he would like; no way he’d get through it all tonight.

  He flipped to the first page and began to read. It proved slow going at first, as he was out of the habit of reading. His mind continually wandered back to the dream he'd had earlier. The memory of Her confused him and left him with too many unanswered questions.

  But I'm never going to get those answers if I can't find the way to Enarium. Which means reading this book. He drew in a deep breath, rubbed his eyes, and returned to the top of the page he'd read three times.

  He struggled to read by the light of the dying embers, but slowly he found his attention drawn into the story. Despite what the Lectern had said about it being one of Taivoro's worst works, the Hunter couldn't help admitting the tale intrigued him.

  The book told of Enmor, a Journeyman bard searching the world for his muse. He roamed around Einan, his hunt for the ethereal figure of inspiration leading him from city to city. Every new setting presented him with a fresh challenge to his skill as a singer and his fortitude of character. Of course, given the fact that it was a Taivoro, story took second place to ribald tales of the bard's sexual conquests. Every third page detailed some new amorous adventure, a new woman or man he took to bed, all in the most explicit language. The Hunter actually found himself blushing at a few of the more licentious scenes.